d even the ladies seemed to be shouting.

"Did I say anything so good as all that?" thought Billy.

But at the end of the debate, which came very soon after Billy's effort,
Grandfather Morton shook hands with him very proudly; and it was the
president of the society--and he had been a member of the
Legislature--who came up just then, and said,

"Capital speech of yours, Mr. Morton. Best thing of the evening."

"Good, wasn't it?" said Billy's grandfather. "Laid that red-headed
poison peddler as flat as a pancake."

"Best speech I ever heard in this hall, Mr. Morton; it was so splendidly
short."

But Billy kept thinking, all the way home, "What would he have said if I
hadn't forgot the rest of it?"

That was years ago, and Billy is a great lawyer now; but he says he has
never forgotten what it was that made his first speech so very good.

THE CZAR'S FISH.

BY DAVID KER.

One fine July morning, a few years ago, there was a great stir among the
villagers of Pavlovo, on the Lower Volga, for the news had got abroad
that the Czar was coming down the river, on his way to his Summer Palace
in the Crimea. So, of course, every one was on the look-out for him; for
the Russian peasants of the Volga are a very loyal set, and many old men
and women among them, who have never been out of their native village
before, will tramp for miles over those great, bare, dusty plains on the
chance of catching a passing glimpse of "Alexander Nikolaievitch"
(Alexander the son of Nicholas), as they call the Czar.

Among those who talked over the great news most eagerly were the family
of an old fisherman, who was known as "Lucky Michael," on account of his
success in catching the finest fish, although hard work and experience
had probably much more to do with it than any "luck."

But of late "Lucky Michael" had been very _un_lucky indeed. His wife had
been ill, to begin with; and one of his two sons (who helped him with
his fishing) had been disabled for several weeks by a bad hurt in his
arm. Moreover, his boat was getting so crazy and worn out that it seemed
wonderful how it kept afloat at all; but the news of the Czar's coming
seemed to comfort him for everything.

"If Father Alexander Nikolaievitch would only give us money enough to
buy a new boat!" said old Praskovia, Michael's wife, as she put away
what was left of the huge black loaf that had served for breakfast; "but
I suppose it wouldn't do to ask him."

"Of course